Feeling the Warmth
by Dragonflys-Girl
Summary: I wonder where those senses of pride and accomplishment have gone now. I need them, so I can keep my head above the water and survive this. [Spoiler for 01.09 Derailed, very faint hint of ElleGideon]


Title: Feeling the Warmth

Author: Cookie Crumbs

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters on the show, though I'd love to…

Spoiler: 01.09 Derailed, and tiny teeny bits of eps aired before.

Genre: Angst, with very faint hint of Gideon/Elle. You're warned

AN: My first attempt at writing in this fandom. Let me know what you think?

Summary:_ I wonder where those senses of pride and accomplishment have gone now. I need them, so I can keep my head above the water and survive this._

* * *

The office is almost deserted - almost, because I can still see light shining out from Gideon's office.

I have chosen to leave the lamp on my desk off. There will be time for light and clarity, but now is not a good time. I need the darkness, I welcome it, because it let me hide and heal.

The edges of my ID cut into my palm. Night after night, as I hide out in the darkness of the bullpen, I can't take my eyes off it. I still remember the sense of pride when I first received this from Hotch. The recognition that I am finally a part of the BAU team - the goal that motivated me to put myself through college and grad school - is the sweetest reward I have ever received. I wonder where those senses of pride and accomplishment have gone now. I need them, so I can keep my head above the water and survive this.

I worry. I wonder how the team will see me now. Do they see me as the survivor? The victim? Or the incompetent agent who failed to defuse a hostage situation she herself was experiencing first hand?

I know Reid is genuinely glad that I am fine, other than that nasty cut on my face. We seem to have bonded a little more over the entire event, but at the same time, I feel even more inadequate in front of him. He is so much younger, yet he knows so much more about everything than I ever will, and he knows how to handle himself, knows how to get out of hostage situations alive.

Hotch. He's careful around me, always keeping an eye on me, even offered to let me get out of consultations. He's reluctant to let me out solo, or wander too far alone from the team when we are called to scenes. I offered to go to Texas, by car this time, to finish the custodial, but he told me he'd already sent Morgan off for the task. I didn't bother to hide my disappointment. What's the point? He's one of the best profilers in the country; he can probably read me like an open book no matter how hard I try.

Morgan is, well, being Morgan. I am not too sure what he thinks of me now. He was my instructor at hand-to-hand combat when I first joined. I am sure he is mightily disappointed by how poorly I guarded my own weapons. He isn't one to take failures well. I mean, he doubted Gideon for his mistake in Boston, and it is Gideon, the master of the criminal psyche, we're talking about. How will he see me now?

And Gideon. I am not too sure how he's taking in the whole situation. He was the one to recommend me for the promotion from Seattle, and now I think he's regretting that decision. I remember the flip in my heart when I knew I would have a chance to work with him. One of the greatest profilers in the FBI's history. I have worked hard to impress him, to show him that he did not make a mistake by taking me into the team.

Maybe Shyer was right. I am promoted too soon. Maybe I was overly confident about my abilities as a profiler.

"You need to let go, Elle," Gideon's voice comes from behind me and I jump, literally, out of my seat.

I turn around to face my mentor, and the man I have worked so hard to impress. "What an agent I am, eh?" I laugh, or at least I try to. "I can't even tell someone's behind me. Good thing you're not an UNSUB."

"Well, you were pre-occupied," he shrugs. I know he is picking up on my uneasiness, but I am too tired to pretend.

"I guess I was," I agree.

"You need to talk about it," he is looking at me with an expression I have yet to identify.

I try to look at him with a blank expression, but I know he sees through it. I turn back to my desk for something – anything – to keep my hands occupied, and my having to talk about that day.

"Elle," he says my name, softly, barely louder than a whisper, but he says it with such a quality that compels people to comply with the demand underlying his tone.

"I need time," I try lamely.

"You've had a week," he retorts, and I push away the urge to glare at him for pointing out the obvious. "You know very well that you need to talk about things."

He pulls the chair from Morgan's desk to sit down facing me.

There is no way out. I can see the virtual walls closing in, backing me into a corner. His eyes never leave mine, and I shudder at the thought of how much of myself I am exposing.

"You can read what happened in the reports," I try once again, knowing full well that factual information is not what Gideon is after here.

He just gives me a pointed look but doesn't say anything; he knows, as well as I do, that silence in this case is the best method to get me to talk.

"I was afraid I was going to die," I finally murmur out, whispering my admission of weakness.

"Start from the beginning," he orders.

Blindly, I obey, "I didn't even know what was happening at first. I was reviewing the files, the train stopped; the guard came in and told me there was someone committing suicide in front of the trains. The next thing I knew, Bryer had already shot the guard and took my gun."

I pause, waiting to see his reaction to my accounts thus far, but he keeps his expression completely neutral. Knowing he will not interrupt until I'm finished, I take a deep breathe and continue.

"I wanted to struggle, to fight him for my gun back, but I held back. There were others on the train, and unstable as he was, I wasn't sure if my struggling with him would have made things worse.

"He cuffed me with the guard's handcuff. And that time, I had thought my chances of getting out of there alive were pretty slim. But I knew the BAU would be called in. I mean, Dr. Bryer was displaying all the signs of a psychotic, so I waited. At least with you guys outside, I know we stand a chance of getting some, if not all, of the hostages out.

"Then, you guys came," I wave my hand.

"And that bother you," he states knowingly.

"I...I...I don't know," I stumble over my own words, my own thoughts. "I…I feel powerless, I feel useless in there. There I was, a trained profiler, and I couldn't even calm a psyche patient down. He shot someone, right in front of me, with MY gun, and I couldn't do anything about it."

"What could you have done?"

"I…I…I don't know," I am frustrated, and lost. Funny how it is my job to get into people's hand to figure out what they are thinking while I can't even sort out my own.

"You don't have anything to prove, Elle," Gideon briefly touches my hand and brushes his thumb across my knuckles.

At his touch, my heart flutters, but I clamp down on that feeling. I know I am precariously close to having a full-blown crush on him, and that is something I will not allow myself do. That is too dangerous.

"You held your head together and stayed calm. You didn't let your impatience through and put the others in greater danger. You did the best you could in that situation. You didn't have access to any of the background information; any action to provoke or engage the subject may have caused him to loose control further. His doctor couldn't do anything to calm him down, and she has his full medical history. You did all you could, and you should let yourself go with that."

I can feel the tears threatening to fall, and I blink rapidly, hoping to catch them before they break open the flood gate. I take in all the faith Gideon has just placed on me; I am grasping onto them so I will be able to come out of this.

Having his assurance that I've done all that I could helps. Knowing that I have not disappointed him helps, too. It suddenly seems like there is light at the end of the dark tunnel, and I am grateful he is here to guide me to it.

"You sleep on it, and feel better," he says as he stands up and pats my hand gently.

I nod, and try to give him a weak smile and watch as he walks back toward his office.

At the stairs, he turns around, faces me, and rubs his hand against his face as he so often does when he's thinking. "Elle," he pauses, and I wait with baited breath. "Reid told me you tried to negotiate for Bryer to keep you and let everyone else go. That's... just don't ever do that again. I don't think I…we can live with it if you were left on that train."

I sit, dumbfounded, as I watch Gideon climb the stairs to his office without another word, without another look. His last message holds a lot of meaning, some of which I don't dare to guess. But there is one thing that I do know: I know I am accepted, and that I have someone who cares about me.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I know I will be bathing in that light soon. Now, I can already feel the warmth from that light.


End file.
